


DragonAge: The Halla at First Sight

by EvaGalana



Series: The Halla [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:06:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2811386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvaGalana/pseuds/EvaGalana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan knew Adaia prior to conscripting Adela. This tells of the first time the Grey Warden, as a young warden, sees our lovely savage.  All from Duncan's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	DragonAge: The Halla at First Sight

Dark eyes scanned over the area, taking in the hawkers' booths, carts full of baked goods and other foodstuffs, the stalls filled with glittering jewels and bright cloth. This would be the perfect place to acquire wealth for one of his skills. A deep sigh escaped his lips. However, he was no longer to use those particular sets of skills in those kinds of endeavors. He was supposed to be respectable now, law abiding (well, when necessary) and above all not pick pocket within the very city their headquarters was located. How would the king look upon that?

Especially where their order had only recently been allowed back within the borders of Fereldan?

Frowning slightly, for the young Warden was bored, he resumed his pace through the market place. His eyes fell upon a tall, feminine figure, and he stopped, casting an appreciative gaze upon the woman's form. As tall as an average man, she had slender womanly curves under the modest but well made dress she wore. He could tell that her calves were strong, muscled, and the way she moved bespoke a warrior to him. Her back was to him, awash with a heavy wave of yellow blond hair that fell to mid-back. She was bartering with a peddler of fine cloth, and her arms moved as she expressed herself with quick, almost angry moves of arms and hands. Wanting to see her face, hoping it was as exquisite as the back of her promised, the young warden circled around, careful to avoid any shoppers or peddlers as he kept his eyes upon the woman.

Approaching her right side, he was surprised to notice the delicate curve of a long, slender ear, marking the woman as elven. She is tall for an elf, he thought as he continued, stopping just as her face came into view. A dark tattoo in the shape of a vine encircled her right eye, a tendril flowing down her cheek to trace gently along her jaw line, before it plunged down the front of her neck. A Dalish, he wondered, here? He continued to observe as she bartered, threatened and cajoled the merchant. Her features were strong, yet beautiful, her blue-gray eyes piercing, flashing with anger. Never one for poetic license, the young man thought that she must have been how the Dalish thought their goddesses of war would look, had the woman before him been dressed in traditional Dalish armor rather than a peasant dress, wielding a bow rather than angry words at the human, who was obviously trying to swindle her for the fabric she wished to purchase. The human said something low, and he watched as the elven woman's eyes widened and then arrowed in hatred and anger. Frowning, the warden stepped forward as the merchant again repeated what had so offended the woman.

Knife-ear.

He winced. So much bigotry existed, and here was someone who made his living by selling wares, and he insults a woman who obviously has the funds to purchase his cloth? He stepped closer, ready to strike should the need arise.

The woman replies with her own slur.

Shem.

His face red with outrage and anger, the merchant begins to order the elf away, but she has already turned her back to him, her hair a yellow wave in the wind, moving with purpose toward another vendor of fine cloth. The dark warden glances over at the merchant who has now lost the business of not only the elf but of several others who had noticed the exchange and decided to purchase elsewhere. The warden offers him a shake of his head before he follows the elf.

She moves like a warrior, he notices, her hips swaying, but not seductively, with purpose. She easily side steps a pair of racing children, dances lightly over a dog that is chasing a cat. She weaves her way through the cluttered stalls of the market district, and the warden is not the only one who watches with appreciation. She is graceful, deadly, savage, beautiful.

Reaching her destination, she begins to haggle with the woman who runs the stall. This conversation is far more pleasant, more civilized. The elf's voice is musical, lyrical as elven voices tend to be. She laughs, and the young human finds himself fully enchanted with the woman. She purchased an entire bolt of fine yellow cloth, and half a bolt of crimson, handing over a purse heavy with coin. She shares a few more words with the woman, who congratulates the elf on her happy blessing. Smiling, the elf - he is certain she is Dalish - turns, brushing past the young man, glancing down to offer him a slight smile, a quick wink of a grey-blue eye. She's known all along he's been following her, observing her. And she seems amused.

Catching his breath, Duncan of the Grey Wardens can only watch as his Dalish goddess of war enters the Alienage, and vanishes.


End file.
